Page 68 of The Charlie Method

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

Her vehemence gives me pause. I know better than anyone what it’s like to play a role. To be two people. I plaster on my bland, politician’s son smile for my dad’s constituents on the campaign trail. To my friends, I let them see my easygoing-with-a-side-of-sarcastic-quips side. But very few people are privy to a deeper look. Case, sometimes, but these days, it’s mostly Beckett. He sees the intensity I like to keep under wraps. He hears the thoughts and fantasies I’ve never shared with anybody else.

I wonder what parts of Charlotte Kingston are real and what parts are the act. She’s either the good-girl A student in the sweater sets, or she’s the sexy risk-taker who can make me laugh just as much as she turns me on. But I don’t think she’s both.

“Are you going to tell Beckett?” she asks, looking unhappy at the notion.

I nod. “Of course.”

“Do you have to?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s his account too. And I don’t keep secrets from my roommate.”

“Your roommate.”

“Roommate. Teammate. Best friend. Whatever you want to call it. I promise he won’t say anything, though.”

“Really? Because I know all about athletes and their locker room talk.”

“Someathletes. Not us. It’s nobody’s business what we do. Don’t get me wrong, people talk about us sometimes. But I promise they won’t talk about you.”

“Thank you,” she says, and my frustration returns when I realize this conversation isn’t going at all as I’d hoped.

“You’re really not going to see this through?” I ask her.

After a beat, she shakes her head, eliciting a deep pang of disappointment. “I can’t, Will. It’s just…not me.”

THE VIRGIN AND THE BLADE/LOURDES

CHAPTER 7

I AM ENGLAND

The moon hung low over the city of London, its effulgent light casting long, slanted shadows across the palace. Effulgent and beautiful despite the deadliness of the night’s task. And beneath that effulgent glow bathing the palace, he slipped past the guards, his every move as silent as a lion stalking its prey.

But he was not a lion.

He was even more dangerous.

He was Alexander. The greatest conqueror the world had ever known, with the most feared army at his disposal. That army waited just outside the city walls, ready to conquer on his command, but this was not the battle that occupied his mind tonight.

Inside the grand chamber, Queen Elizabeth stood by the window, outlined against the faint glow of the moonlight. She wore a regal gown of deep crimson. The color of defiance.

The color of England.

Her golden hair was carefully pinned, but, as rebellious as its owner, one defiant strand brushed her effulgent cheek. Her sharp, calculating eyes narrowed when she heard the faint creak of the door behind her.

“I thought you’d be more subtle, Alexander,” she said without turning. “Sneaking into my palace? Bold, even for you.”

Alexander’s lips curled into a smile as he stepped forward. He was dressed in his warrior armor, glinting with the promise of conquest. Yet his eyes, those legendary eyes that had seen the vastness of the known world, softened as they fell upon her.

“Subtlety was never my strength,” he said, his voice low and rich. “Conquest, however, is. And I’ve got twelve inches of steel to back up that claim.”

Elizabeth turned, her heart thudding against her ribs as she met his gaze. His presence was intoxicating. So much danger. So much charm.

But she was a queen—England’s queen—and she would not be easily swayed.

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